How People Change
by The Slytherin Half-Blood
Summary: Harry sees Draco Malfoy after the Battle of Hogwarts and wonders what's wrong with him. Something I wrote a while ago and decided to publish.


**This is a oneshot that takes place after the battle of Hogwarts. I wrote this in 7th grade and decided to publish it here. Please enjoy.**

 **I don't own the characters, locations, or the first paragraph. They all belong to the glorious J.K. Rowling.**

 _How People Change_

"'The wand's more trouble than it's worth,' said Harry. 'And quite honestly,' he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only for the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, 'I've had enough trouble for a lifetime.'"

Ron and Hermione nodded in acceptance at Harry's reasoning, knowing that it was for the best. They really did not need any more trouble.

"I'm going to see Fred," Ron suddenly blurted. "Do any of you want to come?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I can face them. Sorry, mate," he explained. Ron patted Harry's back, sympathetically and turned to Hermione.

"I'll come, Ronald," she told him. She nodded to Harry with a small smile. She was giving him support. "You go on, Harry. Do whatever you need to."

"Thanks," Harry sighed, relieved. He needed some time alone. Away from the overwhelming guilt that he was the reason George had to mourn of his twin's death, the reason the young students of Hogwarts had to fight in a war, the reason Hermione had to obliviate her parents about her entire existence (having them start new lives without her). No… _Don't think that_ …. The war was over, and Voldemort was gone for good. Despite the casualties and sacrifices, they had won. However, he couldn't say the same for everyone.

Sitting on a bench-like piece of debris was a boy with his head down, slouching as if in shame, his platinum blonde hair lay limp and lifeless, covering his downcast eyes. This boy was not Draco Malfoy. It couldn't have been, as they were too different to have been the same person. Draco Malfoy was the arrogant prick of Slytherin. He strutted through the halls of Hogwarts as if the very ground he walked upon was gold to be preserved and worshiped. Draco Malfoy did not grieve or show any weakness. He did not allow his expensive robes to touch even the smallest speck of dirt. And Draco Malfoy certainly did not think of himself as lower than anyone. The war had changed so many people. So much so, that some were beyond recognition.

Harry was curious and in great need of any form of distraction (His attempt at finding solitude was constantly being interrupted by plagues of guilt). So naturally, he walked over, silently sliding next to his childhood enemy. Malfoy continued to look down, now Harry saw, at his left forearm. His unblemished left forearm. Gone was the brooding black monstrosity that marked his position in the war. Replacing it was smooth, pale skin, of which Malfoy's equally pale fingers constantly traced. It seemed to be a mindless action without any conscious thought behind it.

So quietly that Harry almost didn't hear, Malfoy muttered, "Why are you here, Potter?"

The tone of Malfoy's voice alarmed Harry. _It couldn't have been Malfoy to say that._ The voice was so defeated and utterly broken. Unsure how to answer the question, Harry resorted to changing the topic. "The weather seems fitting, doesn't it? All cloudy and gloomy." Malfoy turned to him. He didn't move much, but now Harry could make out the bags under his eyes.

"Why are you here, Potter?" Malfoy repeated, louder and more desperate than the first time. Harry couldn't evade the question this time.

"Ummm-." Before Harry could think of a reason that didn't sound stalkerish of conceited, he was cut off.

"Are you here to gloat? To rub it in my face how dramatically the tables have turned? To remind me that you and your mudblood and mudblood-loving friends came out victorious, while my whole bloody family will be thrown into Azkaban for following a power-hungry madman. Because if you are, Potter, then I am very aware that I have fallen and you have every right to hang it over my head," Malfoy spat. Resentment and bitterness were present in every word, although the brief monolog lacked the usual cruel venom (despite the language) that found its way into their normal batters. Who was this person? Frantic not to damage this already broken soul, Harry immediately denied the accusation.

"I'm not here to make your life worse, Malfoy," Harry voiced clearly and truthfully.

"For once," Malfoy scoffed. He tilted his head slightly, still weak and tried, but curious. "Then why are you here?"

"I- uh- saw you and wanted to ask how you were holding up," Harry replied slowly as he tried to figure out the reason for himself.

"So you pitied my situation and wanted to fix it," Malfoy stated dryly. _That's the reason._ "I don't need your pity, Potter."

There was a moment of silence when the two young adults turned away from each other. "I want to help you and your mother get out of an Azkaban sentence," Harry suddenly exclaimed.

"I already told you. I don't need your-"

Harry was quick to cut him off. "It's to repay a life debt."

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. "How does me not going to Azkaban repay my life debt to you?" He looked to the ground in shame and despair (probably terrified of being under the control of a "filthy half-blood").

"No. To repay the life debt I have to your mother. She lied to Voldemort that I had died." Harry saw Malfoy violently flinch before regaining posture.

"You could've gotten her killed! Why would you force her to do that? And why did she let you?" he hissed with his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"She did it of her own accord. I had nothing to do with her decision." Malfoy's eyebrow rose as of challenging Harry to give a reasonable explanation as to why his mother would ever do something so selfless and dangerous. "She asked if you were alive. I told her that you were, and she then proclaimed me dead." Malfoy still had a scrutinizing look in his eyes.

"So why would you help me as well?"

"She risked her life to find out f you were okay. She would've wanted me to help you, too."

Malfoy turned to the remains of Hogwarts; stone lay crumbled and scattered around what was left of the building. He looked unsure and cautious as if he was contemplating something. "Are you sure you want to help me? Don't you think I deserve to go to Azkaban?" Harry was once again shocked at the pure vulnerability that Malfoy was exhibiting.

"Of course you don't deserve to go to Azkaban. You might've been the biggest git at school, but you aren't evil. You were pressured to take the mark, you didn't make the decision. Same with your mother. Your father, on the other hand, willingly served Voldemort, so I won't vouch for him," Harry informed, trying to put as much sincerity as he could into his voice to convey his message. Malfoy nodded slightly in acceptance.

"He deserves it anyway," he agreed. The two schoolmates sat in silence for a few moments before Harry finally stood.

"I'd better go help the others clean up," he explained before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Malfoy shouted suddenly. Harry turned to face the youngest Malfoy. His eyes were darting everywhere. He hesitated before quietly stuttering, "Th- thanks, Potter. For the help." Harry smiled, this time pleasantly surprised by Malfoy's show of gratitude.

"Of course, Malfoy." Harry started jogging toward the collapsed Great Hall.

Maybe this Draco Malfoy was the result of the war. Maybe he's always been like that and Harry just never saw it. Maybe he was just trying to fix the doomed relationship they had. Whatever the case, Harry was determined to keep in touch with this new Malfoy. In the meantime, "Ron! Hermione! Wait up! I'm coming to help."

 **A/N: I'm not so confident in my talent at 7th grade but, I hope you liked this. You are very welcome to leave constructive criticism and, of course, positive reviews are always welcome. Thanks for taking the time to read this.**


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